Table Of Content

Poems About Pharmakon and Thanatosis by D.E. Morgan Anything for a Friend I would pick up the knife, the gun, or the poison. Anything for a friend, an ally, a lover. I would give you gifts of money, and blood. Anything for a friend. Blue Your sky blue iris quickens my steady heartbeat as I gaze at you. The worlds fill your eyes and so does my gaping form as you look at me. As blue as the sea on a calm and cloudless day are your wondrous eyes. An island of black surrounded by the blue sea taking in the cosmos. Wonderful blue eyes between pale eyelids. Ferns The ferns grew in my skull out of my ears, out of my nose Spider-like they crawled down reproducing themselves, introducing themselves to the muggy air, which enveloped them and developed them Ferns are quite beautiful, don’t you agree? Orbs Attached to the chest are these precious orbs from which I drink and which give succor. Orbs with a little spout meant for husbands’ hands, pornographic photos, and little infants’ mouths. When They Grow Meat When they start to grow meat, I don’t know what I’ll eat. For all of us vegetarians it’d still be pegged like carrion. I’m not sure how I’d view it. Genetically made to be fit? Not attached to an animal, the strangeness is palpable. Meat! Without an animal! Like berries without plants. Belladonna Belladonna, poisonous! More poisonous than the plumes of smoke that violate the sky. Horrific beauty round and ready to be picked to destroy one’s heart. A Lilith in the woods dark and inviting with a siren song. My Brain Replaced with a Salad My brain was replaced with a salad. My neurons are made of radishes. My brain stem is a carrot. How could this possibly come to be? My neo-cortex, cauliflower. My pineal gland, a shriveled raisin. What have you done to me, O vegetarians? Mandrake They say you scream when you’re picked and your scream could kill. And I know that your toxins could silence a witch forever. Ordinary leaves, ordinary stem, root that looks like a man. I picked you and you didn’t scream and I wasn’t condemned to Hell and I was disappointed. Cannabis and Madness Cannabis and madness are like father and son For the mad, instigator of a dark conspiracy. The only solution is to close one’s eyes and submit to the destruction of the universe. As it disappears, so do conspiracies, visions of light and dark and memories of birth. Higher than high the mad become. Stoned forever in the haziest void. Seeing a dark goddess that bothers the crazy with her amorphous, lover-like embrace. Madness and weed are like serpent and Self: a detached penis and completeness. (But darkly seen through a stupid haze that sullies the soul with dross.) Pharmakon A curse upon your writing, St. John of Patmos! May every pharmacist spit on your grave and the bones that will never reach toward the sky rot in the ground like leaves in the mud. Never was there a man whose insanity raped more minds than yours, O John. Be forgotten, become mortal, you whose skull rests broken and dead! Faeries Little septacles grow luminescent flesh floating in the air like superstitions. Nay, they are superstitions, hallucinations that tease the mind Coaxing, hoaxing. Even the crustiest philosopher cannot deny the pleasure of seeing a few stray faeries float about through the air! The Will to Love Love isn’t the safest thing in the cosmos It burns Bibles, breaks condoms and nails Jesus to the cross with glee. Love can be kind. Love can be nice. Love can kill. Love can madden. Love is not the friend you think it is! It will take you over like a magic spell until it is your sole master. Well of Secrets What wisdom comes from without can’t match the wisdom within. That liquid wisdom that flowers through our minds! What one knows without being told is far greater than what must be said. Like chaotic wells full of runes what one truly knows is mysterious and full of an ancient sagacity. The Dryad’s Cry Hear the weeping of one tree’s dryad! You polluted her air. You cut down her tree. (The tree in which she made her home!) What kind of monster, what kind of human, what kind of all-too-human, does this to a dryad? For she cannot live now that her tree is gone. It is gone forever and a man is to blame. Drum Hear the beat of a drum, that overrides one’s heart. Hear this beast steady its victim for the catching! The legs move. The arms move The head nods and the heart beats. Superficially, the drum brings order, but the chaos remains as it dances to the drum. Black Flower Dark as a puma, the black flower blooms over the unsuspecting townsfolk leaving a black shadow. With petals that smother men the pigmented flower grows until it reaches the sky and blots out the sun. With an odor like the dead the black flower makes pollen and swarms of bees feast on this luxurious meal. Petulant petals, the black flower. Under the Willow Tree Under the willow tree I buried her body. (Hacked into pieces and stuffed in a bag.) The tree’s roots will feed when they break through the bag on rotten flesh and dirt-filled organs. It’s okay for her. She returns to the Earth. A planet she cared for very little anyways. The Basement Dweller The basement dweller, dodging curses from computers, makes his dark abode. Marijuana bags are strewn about the gray floor, full of stems and seeds. His bed is filthy. The sheets are dirty and soiled